


Predictable

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [339]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: predictable: adjective; prəˈdiktəb(ə)l: able to be predicted
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Words, Words, Words [339]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/344906
Comments: 20
Kudos: 35





	Predictable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).



Sherlock yawned and watched as the dog-eared novel dropped from John's fingers. He wondered when their lives, their _life,_ had become predictable, and then he stopped short and found himself studying the man who shifted in his chair and let out a contented sigh.

He realized as he sat back that John Watson was many things, but never predictable. From the moment they had met, over ten years ago now - he knew the exact minutes, hours and days, if anyone had ever asked, he would have rattled it out without a second thought - his friend, partner and lover had always managed to surprise him.

He supposed that was part of the attraction, that he was never quite sure exactly what John was thinking; it had taken far too long to understand why it was that he stayed, no one else ever had before. 

Then there came the night when John arrived home late from a locum shift, with takeaway, had settled onto the couch next to him and announced apropros of absolutely nothing that he loved him. After he recovered the ability to breathe, shortly followed by a tumble of words that made no sense to himself, but John was able to translate the sentiment, he had handed him his order of prawns and unmuted the documentary on bees that Sherlock had been watching for the third time that week, and life had gone on, more or less the same as it always had...

No. It had astonished him how three little words had lifted the curtain from his eyes, and he began to see finally what each little sideways glance, and smile had meant. Each time John had stood between him and his demons, made him eat when he would forget - each touch became a promise, a reminder that he was no longer alone and that he was, in actuality, loved. 

Though, from time to time, he would wonder aloud why that was, and John would roll his eyes, stop whatever it was he was doing, sit him down and explain once again that it was just a fact, a fact provable by simple observation, all he had to do was observe, and Sherlock had no answer other than to nod, and take the offered hand and follow him to bed. 

He shook his head then, and discarded whatever problem he had been puzzling over and knelt in front of John, waiting until he eventually opened his eyes, and smiled down at him.

"What is it?"

"I do love you -."

"Yes, I know, silly old thing. I've always known."

" _Always?_ "

"Hmm."

"Since -"

"From the first time you looked at me across a crime scene and smiled."

"I never smile at crime scenes." Sherlock argued, then thought back to their very first crime scene and remembered quite clearly, as if it were yesterday. He had glanced up from the corpse and was about to grumble about contamination of the scene but he had taken a breath and smiled at the look in John's eyes. Yes. It had happened then, or possibly before - though he wasn't sure - but yes, he had been in love, had loved him then and hadn't stopped. "Remarkable," he muttered under his breath, then slowly got to his feet and offered John a trembling hand.

"What's remarkable?"

"You."

"Me? I'm -" John took his hand and allowed him to help him to his feet, and he gazed into Sherlock's face and shook his head. "I love you too, my lovely idiot. I'm knackered. Bed?"

Sherlock nodded, and was only a bit surprised to see a tear slip down John's face. He gently wiped it away, then kissed his forehead, and after a moment, nodded again, then led him to their bedroom and closed the door behind them.


End file.
